Hello Goodbye II
by espiyo
Summary: Dipping my toe in the murky waters of MI5 again after an inordinately lengthy Brackley/Vincent-induced sulk. I just hope I can remember how to do this - and remember what has gone before, both in 'real life' Spooks and in my parallel universe. Anyway, usual disclaimers apply, and thank you to anyone who reads this! There will be the odd bit of light relief, I promise...
1. Chapter 1

He was jolted awake by the sound of Scarlet barking, followed by Ruth shouting, verging on hysterical. He lay for a moment, letting the unfamiliar room swim into focus, trying to gauge just how much pain it would cause him to move. Gingerly he edged his legs out from under the duvet and lowered them onto the floor. Reaching for the stick balanced against the headboard he levered himself upright, wincing as his knee rebelled.

As he reached the hall all was quiet. 'Ruth?' he called. 'Is everything alright?'

Pushing open the living room door he was greeted by the sight of Ruth sitting in floods of tears on the floor beside a huge fluorescent pink rubber ball. A quick scan of the room and his eyes alighted on Scarlett under the coffee table, ears flattened, head on paws, the expression on her face the epitome of doggy guilt.

'What's wrong? What's happened?'

She turned a tear-stained face towards him . 'That…bloody…dog…' she hiccupped. 'I went to sit on my ball and…and…she started barking and…jumping all over the place and I fell off and…and I couldn't get up, and…' she sniffled, the tears falling anew.

'Scarlet?' Harry moved towards his dog, who began to whine softly.

'Harry! Never mind that…that sodding dog! Help me up.'

'Sorry, I…' Tossing his stick onto the sofa he edged round the ball and bracing himself he reached for her. 'What the hell is that thing, anyway?'

She stumbled against him as she got onto her feet, causing him to stagger backwards. 'Sorry…it's my gym ball. I…I can't get comfy anymore, so I bought it to sit on. Unfortunately Scarlet had…had other ideas.'

Gently he thumbed the tears from her cheeks. 'She'd just have thought you were playing. It is a ball, after all.'

The look on Ruth's face was a clear indication that the defence should rest, so as he followed her out of the room he attempted what he hoped would prove a more welcome topic of conversation.

'Darling, we need to talk. About the…elephant in the room.' As her pace slowed, he added quickly, 'Not you! Of course, I don't mean you! Well, I do, but not in the way, you think, I…'

She had come to a halt now, and slowly turned round to face him.

'Harry. I am due to give birth to two babies in six weeks' time. I think that entitles me to be the size of a house!'

'Exactly! That's just my point!'

'Wh…? Have you not read any of the baby books? Do you not realise that right now you're supposed to be supportive and complimentary and loving and endlessly patient and…' To her fury, tears sprung to her eyes once more.

'N-no, you misunderstand me. The babies are only six weeks away. Call me old fashioned, but I really want us to be married before they're born.'

She stared at him.

'I know that knocks a church wedding on the head, but we're neither of us religious so that shouldn't really matter…and it makes things tight for a registry office wedding, but there are some perks to being in the service. Strings that can be pulled. We…we could get married at Mayfair Library, go away for a few days and then have a proper honeymoon…' he grinned ruefully, 'in about eighteen years' time.'

'Now? You ask me this now? When I'm huge and hot and can hardly move and everything hurts and I haven't slept properly for weeks? And, AND,' she said, cutting him off before he could reply, 'do you really think we're in a fit state to be getting married? I'm not talking heavily pregnant and knees and burns, I'm talking about US, Harry. This relationship is hanging by a thread and well you know it.'

'Nonsense.'

With a gasp of frustration Ruth flung up her arms and without a further word turned and continued towards the kitchen.

Harry hesitated for a moment then limped after her, willing himself not to put his foot in it any further than he had already, and for her to give him a break. She was standing at the sink, one hand on the small of her back, another holding the kettle as it filled with water.

'What do you want for breakfast?'

'I'm not hungry. I'll get something later. Ruth…' He sat down heavily at the kitchen table, questions cycling through his brain, each being quickly discarded. Finally he ventured: 'If you weren't pregnant, would you have left me?'

She turned off the tap, switched the kettle on. He watched as she got mugs off the tree, the cafétière from the cupboard, milk from the fridge. As she stood by the kettle waiting for it to boil a chill began to settle on his stomach. He swallowed. 'Ruth?'

Finally she turned towards him, hands slowly rubbing her belly, her eyes on the floor. 'My gut reaction is no.'

That had to be good news. 'And your…considered reaction?'

Finally she raised her eyes to him, and slowly shook her head.

He gulped a lungful of air. 'That's…that's good.'

The kettle clicked off, and he got to his feet. 'You sit down. I'll make it.'

For once there was no argument about her caffeine intake. As he placed the cafétière on the table between them he realised that he was hungry after all.

'Actually, how do you fancy bacon rolls?'

'I thought you weren't hungry?'

'I wasn't. But the coffee's whetted my appetite.'

Grimacing, she shifted her weight on the chair. 'We've no rolls. Or bacon.'

'I'll get some from the corner shop. Take Scarlet with me.'

'Well, the exercise will do you both good.' She sighed. 'Sorry.'

'No, no, you're quite right. I've not exactly been doing my physio. Or anything else, for that matter.'

'Harry, you're not even bothering to go upstairs any more.'

He shrugged. 'The stairs bugger up my knee. Plus, you should be back in your own bed, without me hogging the duvet and thumping you in my sleep. And the upstairs spare room is a bit…well, Catherine decorated it. It's not really my style.'

'The stairs don't bugger up your knee, you just need to take the bloody painkillers.' She held up her hands in resignation. 'Ok, you do hog the duvet. The nightmares are awful. But you also rub my feet when I get cramp. Give me a cuddle when I come back to bed after I've peed for the 59th time. Talk sweet nothings to me as I'm falling asleep. 'Her fingers were drumming a rhythm on her mug. 'And I really, really miss the sex.'

'What?'

Ruth blushed. 'I think it's my hormones.' She flashed a quick, bashful smile. 'It's okay, I know you don't fancy it. Don't fancy me. But it might help you sleep better. Stop you having the nightmares. Anyway, don't you have bacon to buy?'

* * *

'Harry?'

'Mm?'

'I think your dog wants out.'

'Oh, she's my dog now, is she?'

'She always was your dog.'

Opening his eyes, Harry was greeted by the sight of Scarlet standing on his chest, panting excitedly. Before he could move she lunged forward and began to lick his face.

'Urgh…off!' With one arm he scooped her off and lowered her to the floor. 'Let me have a shower first, hm? Then we'll go and get some bacon. Time for…' he glanced at his watch, '…lunch, I think.'

'What time is Graham coming?'

Harry got out of bed with a little more ease than when he awoke, and began bundling up the clothes strewn on the floor. 'Four-ish, I think. Are these for the washing machine, or do you want to put them back on?'

Ruth, however, showed no indication of wanting to get up, and stretched languorously with an unselfconsciousness he seldom saw. He wondered briefly if he had it in him for another round, then a little wet nose nudged his calf. 'Ruth?' He held up the bundle.

'Oh, washing machine. Think I might stay like this the rest of the day. It's too blooming hot to be this pregnant and wear clothes.'

'Suits me fine. I'll cancel Graham.'

Her fingertips traced lazy circles on her bare belly. 'Don't you dare!'

He smiled. 'You are beautiful, you know. You'd still be beautiful if you were the size of Hertfordshire, never mind a house. And I'd still love you.'

'Harry, if I don't get a bacon roll soon I swear I'll wear that smock dress my aunt made me for the remainder of my pregnancy.'

He winced. 'I'm going, I'm going.'

* * *

Truth be told, Harry felt like a bit of a spare part whenever Graham came round. He and Ruth had an easy familiarity that all too often involved making fun of him, and they had a surprising amount in common, including an unlikely love of musicals which that evening had resulted in a raucous and rather tuneless re-enactment of Carousel. Harry, grumpily wondering what football songs had to do with it, sought refuge in the garden with Scarlet and a generous helping of Ardbeg while Graham washed up and Ruth sat chatting to him at the kitchen table. It was a scene of cosy domesticity which once upon a time Harry would have chewed his left arm off for, a fact that was not lost on his son.

'Where is the old sod anyway?'

Ruth looked up from the book of baby names. 'Back garden, I think. He's not much of a fan of my singing. What do you think about Aaron?'

Graham wrinkled his nose. 'Aaron Pearce? Sounds good, but Dad won't go for it. He'll want something traditional. English.'

'Graham's hardly traditional.'

He tipped the washing up bowl, waiting for the dirty water to drain down the plughole before answering. 'Mum chose that. I guess he'd been up to his usual as he wasn't allowed any say in the matter. Then again, I'm quite glad about that, as he wanted to call me Ben.' He shuddered. 'Not sure I fancy being named after someone who was killed.'

'This morning he asked me to marry him. Before the babies are born. Can you imagine?'

Used to her non-sequiturs, Graham didn't miss a beat. 'Talk about leaving it to the last minute! So are we all systems go, then? Why on earth didn't he say anything?'

'Because I turned him down.'

'You turned him down?! I thought things were getting better between you two?'

'They are…I think.' Ruth had a momentary flashback of the feeling of Harry's skin against her back that morning and blushing, looked away. 'But how on earth can I get married looking like this?'

He stared at her, blankly. 'Looking like what? Pregnant? But you look gorgeous! Eh, no offence. Pregnancy suits you. Honest.' He leaned back against the kitchen counter with a sigh. 'Christ, no wonder dad's seemed preoccupied tonight. He must be gutted.'

'It's not all about him,' Ruth snapped.

Graham balled up the dish towel and, striding out of the room, tossed it onto the table in front of her. 'No, it never is, is it?'


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you very much for the reviews and the welcome back! Unfortunately I couldn't resist posting the first chapter when I finished it rather than writing the whole thing first, so there will be a bit of a delay between each upload. Sorry. And sorry, too, for the choice language here and elsewhere. On we go…**

Darkness was falling. Harry and Scarlet were seated on the bench at the far end of the garden. As Graham approached, Scarlet raised her head, her tail thumping softly against the wood. In the gloom Harry's expression was unreadable.

'Hey Dad. Fancy a top up?'

Harry raised the tumbler; his whisky was almost untouched. 'I'm fine thanks, son. Have a seat. Ruth off to bed?'

Graham sat down beside him. 'No, she's reading her baby names book. Aaron?'

'Over my dead body.'

'Thought you'd say that. Have you any favourites, then?'

'James and Ava.'

'Huh. One of each?'

'Ruth's very organised. À la Margaret Thatcher.'

'Don't tell Ruth that though, eh?'

His father chuckled.

'So she doesn't like them? The names, I mean?'

Harry stretched his legs out across the grass, wincing as his knee protested. 'I think they're on the list of possibles. To be honest, I don't think we'll decide until they're born. They may not look like James or Ava. Or Aaron, or anything else we've considered.'

'Um, talking of upsetting Ruth, she mentioned this morning.'

Harry took a slug of Ardbeg. 'That damn beach ball.'

'What? No, the proposal.'

'It wasn't so much a proposal as a setting of the date. And my timing was a little off, as usual.'

'I think she realises her reaction was a bit…hasty.'

Harry raised a sceptical eyebrow.

'If you tried again, maybe with the hearts and flowers bit…'

'We're a bit old for hearts and flowers.' Harry's gaze returned to the amber liquid swirling in his tumbler. 'Thank you for your concern Graham, but this is between me and Ruth. I don't need…'

'You do need! You absolutely do need! Honestly, for a couple who are so obviously made for each other you two are making a cracking job of royally fucking it up.'

'Graham.' Harry's voice was dangerously quiet, but if his son picked up on this he was past caring.

'Look, I know Ruth can be a bit…mercurial, and I'm not sure I know her well enough to know….'

'You don't.'

'…whether it's the pregnancy and her hormones and all that, or whether it's just who she is, but you have to concede you're bloody difficult to live with, Dad, and if she's put up with you all this time I think she's earned the right to throw a strop once in a while.'

 _'Throw a strop?!'_ Harry thought. _'Jesus, you don't know the half of it.'_

"I'm sure she has,' he replied, stiffly.

'So don't blow it, yeah? Talk to her, Dad…'

'Graham, for the last time - in the unlikely event that I ever want relationship advice from you I shall ask for it. Clear?' And with that Harry stood and limped back across the garden with as much dignity as he could muster.

'…don't just walk away like you're doing right now when the going gets tough!'

Harry may no longer have had the razor sharp faculties of his youth, but he was fairly certain that Graham followed this last riposte with a muttered 'Just grow a pair, why don't you?' He felt his fist clench, his pace slow, and he bit back the retort that came all too easily to his lips. He knew all too well that if he started, he wouldn't stop, and he had no wish to shatter the fragile détente that had built up between them over the past few months. Breathing hard he continued back towards the house.

Ruth was standing, pan in hand, in front of the open cupboard, considering the logistics of managing to return it to the bottom of the stack, when Graham's voice rang out across the garden.

'AND BLOODY LISTEN FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE!'

At that moment Harry appeared in the doorway wearing an expression that had turned many a confident and capable underling into a quivering, inarticulate wreck.

With a sigh she shut the cupboard door and laid the pan back in the draining rack. 'What have you done now?'

Harry, studying the calendar pinned to the wall, didn't answer.

'Harry?'

'Thursday.'

'What?'

'Thursday's free.'

Moving over to him she glanced up at the page. 'Yes, so….?'

He turned, and cupping her face in his hands he kissed her.

He was dimly aware of Graham coming in from the garden, the muttered 'Oh, for god's sake, get a room', and moments later the louder, pointed, 'I'll take the dog for her bedtime walk then, shall I?' but it was a well-aimed kick from a tiny foot that finally broke the kiss.

'Oof. That was a bit close for comfort.'

'You should try having it going on in stereo inside you , 24/7. So, Thursday?'

He took a deep breath. 'We're getting married.'

She stared at him, disbelieving. 'What? Harry, didn't you listen to a word I said this morning?'

'Do you love me?'

'You know I do.'

'And what you said about us hanging by a thread, that was just said in the heat of the moment, yes?'

'Well, sort of, but…'

'This is just a bad patch, nothing more, nothing less, and entirely understandable given what we've been through in the past few months. But we need to put the past behind us, Ruth. We need to move on.'

She still looked far too mutinous for his liking. 'We're good together, aren't we?' he continued, taking her hands in his. 'This morning, considering all our respective impairments...'

' _Impairments_?'

'My impairments. Our babies. Considering…tell me it wasn't bloody fantastic?'

'It was pretty good,' she conceded.

'Damned by faint praise. Ruth, you deserve to be happy. Let me make you happy. Please.'

'It's not your responsibility to make me happy, Harry. Nobody else can make you happy. Only yourself.'

'Then let yourself be happy. We can be good together. We can make this work.'

All too often in the wee small hours Ruth had lain awake and wondered if in fact they brought out the worst in each other, but as she looked up into his eyes she knew that she owed him, owed them, owed all of them, a chance.

'There's only one thing I have to say.'

' _Oh please god_ ,' thought Harry. ' _Please. I don't think I could stand…._ ' He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

'If you think I'm waiting 18 years for a proper honeymoon you can think again.'


	3. Chapter 3

**Still making a bit of a meal of** **the chapter uploads...am sure it used to be more straightforward than this. Anyway, thank you to all who are reading and, especially, reviewing. This is just a quick, and relatively brief, update.**

* * *

When Ruth awoke, the only sign of Harry was note on the pillow beside her.

 _Gone into work. Lots to organise!_

 _Won't be late. Enjoy the dress shopping._

 _Love you, Hxx_

Memories of the previous night filtered back into her consciousness and she groaned. Harry, looking happier than he'd done in months, had promised to organise everything; all she had to do was choose an outfit and they'd buy the wedding bands together. But what about flowers, cars, the cake, invitations, the reception…?

'Leave it to me,' he'd said.

'But what if I don't like it?' Her voice had grown plaintive, whiny, as the enormity of what she'd agreed to hit her.

'I think I know you well enough to know what you like and don't like.'

'Yes, but there's everyday like and there's wedding like. I mean, normally I'm not really a flowery person, but on my wedding day I would like a bouquet, flowers in the room, that sort of thing. And what if you can only get some soulless concrete monstrosity as the venue? We're talking four days' notice, Harry!'

'He's doing a _Don't Tell the Bride_ on you,' Graham teased.

'No, I'm not,' his father countered. 'Ruth's buying the dress and the two of us will get the rings…'

'How on earth do you know about _Don't Tell the Bride_?'

'Long weeks of convalescence, my love. And don't worry, I have no intention of spending £12,000 on the day. As you have so often commented about celebrity weddings, it's not the day itself that matters, it's the marriage.'

She frowned. 'Yes, of course. But you will do it _properly_ , won't you, Harry? I mean, we're not talking a reception in the _Marquis of Granby_ , are we?'

And the vexing, infuriating, _bloody_ man had just grinned.

* * *

Beth slung her bag onto her desk, her heart sinking at the pile of reports that awaited her.

'Coffee,' she muttered.

Barely had the word left her lips than her phone rang, with the long tones of an internal call. She glanced at the display: H Pearce. Not for the first time she wished her desk wasn't quite so much in Harry's direct line of sight. Glancing towards his office she saw him looking straight at her, his free hand pointing towards the phone held to his ear.

She picked up the phone. 'Morning, Harry.'

'Beth, can you come in here please.'

Great. The imperial summons this early could only mean she was in trouble.

'On my way.'

Sliding open the door of Harry's office she was confronted by the sight of what looked suspiciously like wedding magazines strewn across his desk. Without looking up, Harry beckoned her in. 'Take a seat, take a seat.'

He was scribbling what looked like a list on a pad of yellow legal paper and looked ever so slightly stressed.

She waited.

'Uh, Harry?' she prompted.

'Chair covers?' he said, bemused. 'I mean – chair covers?! Who in the actual name of buggery gives a monkey's about…Ah yes. Beth. Thank you.'

She waited.

Harry cleared his throat.

'Um, Ms Evershed, that is to say, Ruth, has agreed to marry me. Or to be more precise, we've set a date.'

'Oh, fantastic! When's the big day?'

'Thursday.'

'Thursday?'

Harry nodded.

'As in, in four days' time, Thursday?'

'That's the one.'

'But don't you need to give, like, a month's notice, or something? And what about all the organising?'

'Special dispensation. Admittedly we did…ah…stretch the criteria somewhat, but there we are. And as Ruth is approaching her date of confinement I shall be organising the wedding.'

Her horror at the last part of the sentence overcoming her amusement at the first, Beth stared at him. 'You?'

'Yes, Beth.'

'On your own?'

'I think I'm perfectly capable of organising a few bunches of flowers and a registrar,' said Harry testily.

'Right.'

'We'll be buying the rings together – I've cleared my diary tomorrow afternoon for that – and Ruth's buying the dress, which brings me to the point of this conversation. I'd like you to take her dress shopping today.'

'Dress shopping?'

'Yes. Obviously that's not something I can help with, but tell her to use the American Express card in my desk.

'And by dress presumably you mean dress, shoes, veil, tiara, jewellery, lingerie and going away outfit?'

Harry blinked. 'Uh, yes, yes of course. Whatever Ruth wants.'

Beth stood. 'I'll head on over to yours then. I take it she's expecting me?'

'Not exactly.'

'...Okay. Oh, and Harry?'

'Mm?'

'Don't forget to organise her hair and make up for Thursday morning.'

The door slid closed behind her.

'Arse,' said Harry, with feeling.


	4. Chapter 4

**Just spotted the first continuity error…way back when in HG1 James William and Emma Ruth were Harry's choices of names for the twins. It seems a helluva faff to correct it so I'll just leave it as Ava, for the time being at least.**

 **~o0o~**

Propped up on pretty much every cushion in the house, Ruth balanced the iPad on her belly and with some trepidation began to search for maternity wedding dresses. An hour later, she had beaten her best score at _Candy Crush_ and was idly bookmarking buggies, cots and baby alarms. When the doorbell rang, she considered ignoring it, then she heard the letterbox rattle open.

'Ruth? Are you there? It's me - Beth!'

For a brief instant she felt the familiar jolt of dread that heralded anyone from Section D turning up unannounced, then Beth shouted 'I've come to take you shopping!'

For the second time she considered ignoring the interruption, then realised that if she did so Beth would report back to Harry that there was no sign of life and he would send round the TSG with battering rams. That said, given the alacrity with which Scarlet was flinging herself at the door, their services would soon not be required.

Wearily she trudged up the hallway, half-heartedly shushing Scarlet as she did so. A Sunday morning it may have been, but as ever Beth was immaculate. Glossy, beautifully cut blonde hair, immaculately applied makeup and an expensive looking cotton jacket over black jeans and a fitted white blouse. By contrast Ruth's hair was neither washed nor brushed and hadn't seen a hairdresser in weeks, and she was clad in an old t-shirt and jogging bottoms of Harry's, her own nightwear having lain untouched in the ironing basket for months. Embarrassed, she started to apologise, but her words died in her throat as Beth, genuinely pleased to see her, enveloped her in a hug.

~o0o~

'…Harry?' Tariq repeated.

The older man looked up from the sheet of paper in front of him, his expression unreadable. 'Sorry, Tariq, I was miles away.'

'Everyone's ready for you in the briefing room.'

'I'll be right there.'

Tariq hesitated, then nodded and went off to join his colleagues. Harry, lips pursed, folded the sheet of paper and slid it into his jacket pocket. On it were nine names:

 _Catherine_

 _Graham_

 _Wes_

 _Malcolm_

 _Tariq_

 _Beth_

 _Dimitri_

 _Lucy_

 _Towers?_

Taking a deep breath he picked up his pad and fountain pen, checked his mobile once more for any messages, then made his way to the briefing room.

~o0o~

Thankfully Myers was not on duty to raise any objections or kill the mood; Harry was touched at his colleagues' delight in his news, and relieved at their offers of help. Thus far, he admitted, he'd organised the time and place (the Mayfair Library at 5pm - oh, and Tariq, can you get it swept, please?); an old contact at Columbia Road Market was providing flowers; and he'd made a list of possible reception venues. The caterers he'd arrange when the venue was confirmed. Administrative Officer Lucy shyly admitted to being the flautist in an amateur wind quartet, and offered to check out the availability of her fellow musicians ('I'm sure it will be fine, though, Harry; we're not exactly in great demand with the local pubs.') Dimitri offered to sort the transport, reassuring Harry that no, he wouldn't be expecting a heavily pregnant woman to clamber onto a vintage Harley Davidson in a wedding dress, and said that his mum could probably be persuaded to bake a sponge cake.

Tariq's suggestion of his cousin as the DJ having been politely turned down ('I think the chances of Ruth tripping the light fantastic are, sadly, not high'), he offered his own services as official photographer. Harry, well aware that a significant proportion of his monthly gadget budget (as Colin had termed it) had recently been expended on a top of the range Canon, agreed on the strict understanding that their section chief would know nothing about it.

'Right,' said Harry, finally, as he ticked off another item on his list, 'I think we're getting somewhere. What else?'

'Stag night?' offered Dimitri.

'Your outfit?' asked Lucy. 'And those of the best man, ushers, bridesmaids. Ruth's hair and make up…'

' _Best man_ ,' thought Harry. ' _Hell's teeth. I suppose it has to be Graham_ …' He scribbled a reminder to ask Catherine if she had any hair and make up contacts.

'Invitations,' Lucy continued. 'Table decorations, favours…'

Feeling his confidence of a few moments ago slipping away, Harry butted in. 'Obviously you're all invited, and I hope you will all be able to come. If you'd like to bring partners feel free, but best let me know by the close of play today for the numbers. I'll have a word with HR about cover.' He exhaled. 'Lucy, if you could call the venues on this list, check availability and ask what they'll do in terms of…decorations and whatnot?'

Scanning the list, the woman nodded.

'Okay, we've all got plenty to be getting on with. If you could report back at 1430 hours we'll see where we are. Thank you.'

As they trooped out of the briefing room he pulled out his mobile and texted Ruth.

 _Hope you're getting on ok. Just thinking - who's giving you away? Hxx_

Next on the list was Wes. Somewhat to his surprise, he wasn't bounced to voicemail, and he was relieved when the boy greeted him with pleasure rather than trepidation. Harry had wondered if the wedding of two of his parents' old colleagues would hold the remotest attraction for him, but he accepted the invitation with enthusiasm. ('Booze, food and Beth all dolled up,' Ruth pointed out later. 'What teenage boy is going to turn that down?')

Both his children, however, did bounce him to voicemail. Harry left messages and was just about to call Malcolm when his phone beeped. A text from Ruth.

 _Hope I'm right in thinking there's no credit limit on this card. Looks like we may find a dress big enough! Was thinking Malcolm? Rxx_

 _I'm sure he'll be thrilled. Will leave you to call him then. Card - no limit. Buy whatever you like. Just don't forget the lingerie. Hxx_

He allowed himself a few moments of lingerie-related reverie, then scrolled through his contacts list and dialled William Towers.


	5. Chapter 5

**I realise that these MI5 wedding planner superpowers may be a bit far fetched, but then again, who knows…**

 **~o0o~**

'Harry! Good to hear from you. At least, I hope you're not bringing me bad tidings; I've just sat down to my elevenses.'

'Home Secretary, I…'

'William, Harry, William. We're not in front of the JIC now.'

'No, I…'

'How is the lovely Ruth?'

'She's well, thank you; actually…'

'And Mr Myers; is he keeping out of mischief?'

Harry blew out his cheeks. Tariq had told him of Myers' reaction when the JIC let him off the hook, and he was all too well aware that his section chief was waiting, watching, gathering ammunition. But for the moment Harry was following Towers' lead and picking his battles carefully. Or so he tried to convince himself. The little nagging voice of self doubt that plagued his sleepless nights told him that if the man hadn't been Ros's brother, and if he wasn't preoccupied with Ruth, the imminent arrival of the twins and the grinding pain he refused to medicate, he would have found some way to get rid of him. Truth be told, he just didn't have the stomach for the fight anymore. He was getting old.

'Keeping a low profile, I think it's fair to say.'

'Hmm. Look, Harry, if you're calling about this wretched McCann business you know full well that if I knew anything I'd tell you. But let's be honest, you're more likely to hear before me, even if it is a police matter.'

Towers knew, then, that Harry had set Tom Quinn on McCann's tail.

'That wasn't why I was calling, Ho…William. I know that I'm not really doing this in the normal fashion, but in the circumstances I hope you'll forgive me. Ruth and I are getting married on Thursday evening, and I…we… hoped you might be able to join us.'

'At last!' Towers roared, 'She's making an honest man of you. Congratulations old chap, that's excellent news.' He paused. 'Thursday, you say? Dammit, Harry, I have a constituency dinner on Thursday night. Frightful bore but I can't get out of it, I'm afraid. I am sorry.'

Such a response had been pretty much inevitable, but as he ended the call Harry was surprised to realise he was disappointed. For a politician, Towers was good company, Harry would almost go as far as to say he regarded him as a friend, and he suspected that he was largely the reason he hadn't been kicked out of MI5. That, and the upcoming Olympics.

'Talking of which,' he said aloud, 'I'd better get some work done.'

He checked and signed off the overnight reports, earmarking some for further investigation, then opened up his emails. Two unread from Friday night were from HR; one asking for his shortlist for the Junior and Senior Case Officer vacancies; the second reminding him that he still had to carry out Philip Myers' appraisal; all the others for Section D were done and awaiting his authorisation. If there was one thing Harry couldn't fault Myers on, it was his attention to administrative detail.

One by one, he opened the files. By the time he got to Tariq's he was incandescent. '"Acceptable? Bloody "Acceptable"? That _arse_ hole has the brass neck to rate my team as "acceptable"?! And Beth not even that? "Needs monitoring, further training advised"! J…WHAT?!' Harry roared, as the door slid open.

'I did knock,' said Sally Chapman, mildly. 'But, uh, I don't think you heard me.'

Breathing hard, Harry apologised.

'Taking my warning about your blood pressure seriously, I see?'

He gave a rueful chuckle. 'What can I do for you, Dr Chapman?'

Sally slid the door closed.

'I heard you'd come in so thought I'd remind you of your two missed appointments…'

'Consider me reminded.'

'…And arrange your next one. I'm just catching up on paperwork today so I could fit you in in…twenty minutes.'

'I'm sorry, I have rather more pressing…'

'Harry, I could sign you off as unfit to work and have security escorting you from the premises within the hour. Is that what you want?'

'I'm fine! The knee's healing well, the burns are healing well, you said so yourself!'

'Indeed, but I'd suggest the knee is in no fit state for you to dispense with the stick, and I've heard tell of mood swings, rages, your seeming distracted, drinking at work…'

Bloody Myers. 'There's nothing new there.'

'That's what I thought.'

Harry's lips twitched into a grin.

'But I am concerned that nonetheless this McCann business took more out of you than you're letting on. I know Jenna is far from the first colleague you've lost, but you're not a young man anymore, Harry. You don't have the mental or physical resilience you had ten, twenty, thirty years ago.' She sighed. 'You're becoming a dad again soon. Don't you owe it to those babies, to Ruth, to be as fit as you can?'

Harry knew when he was beaten. 'I have a 2.30.'

'I'll make sure you're back by then. Room 5.14, fifteen minutes. Don't be late.'

Harry nodded, and turned his attention back to the appraisal files on his screen. One by one he rejected the gradings, and added a meeting to Myers' calendar for 8 o'clock the following morning.


	6. Chapter 6

**As ever this fic is taking on a life of its own and I'm now swithering about certain plot elements. Tying up all the loose ends may be best done as a trilogy, I think. Thanks are due to Sparky75 for making me realise I shouldn't be jumping back into all this without a bit of back reading - but I'm glad to say Catherine's demise was in a different story arc and here she is still very much alive. That said, I really must stop pinching elements of old stories and re-using them in new ones...it must cause no end of confusion.**

 **Ok. Posting this chapter before I rewrite it - again.**

 **~o0o~**

'Ruth…'

Sprawled on the sofa engrossed in a DVD, she half turned towards him. 'Hi, love. Didn't hear you come in. Have you got the takeaway?'

He held up two bags, fully aware her attention was back on the screen. 'Ruth, what is that thing bumping against the skirting board in the hall?'

'Ohh, it's a Roomba, a robot hoover. We got it in Selfridges today. It'll save us lugging that Dyson about. Be a godsend for the dog hairs.'

'It might also be useful for herding small children…'

'Hmmm?'

'I was just wondering: are small dogs necessary for its operation or is that just a decorative extra?'

 _Now_ he had her attention.

'What _are_ you on about?'

Smiling, he beckoned for her to come and see. Reaching the doorway just in time to see Scarlet gliding serenely past atop the Roomba, she burst out laughing.

'Oh Scarlet, get off! You'll break it!'

The dog seemed entirely unconcerned. Harry, suspecting that he would come off worst in any three way tussle with a dog and a robot, manoeuvred past them and headed towards the kitchen. 'Fret ye not; I have the solution to all dog-related problems: food.'

Sure enough, the rustling of polythene bags as Harry extricated the cartons of Thai food was swiftly accompanied by the clatter of Scarlet exiting her perch and scampering down the hall.

~o0o~

'So it was a bit like the scavenger hunt on _The Apprentice_ ,' Ruth said, 'except we could Google, we knew what we were looking for and made sure we knew where to get it before we set out. And we were back before 5pm. And got everything on the list.'

'So, in fact it was nothing like it at all,' said Harry drily, as he tipped the last of the rice onto his plate.

Ruth nudged his shin with her foot. 'Well, you didn't honestly think I'd be up for a day traipsing round London, did you? We had to concentrate our efforts. All told, it was a very slick operation.'

He looked up, sensing he wasn't quite getting the whole story. 'But…?'

She grimaced. 'The lingerie…it might be not quite what you had in mind.'

'Don't worry, I expect to be removing it pretty sharpish.'

'I doubt it. I bought a couple of nursing bras and some Bridget Jones pants.'

'Bridget..?'

'Big, Harry. Big pants.'

'Right. Right. So what about…a sexy little pair of high heels?'

She shook her head. 'Flatties.'

'Drop dead gorgeous going away outfit?'

'Thursday night I want my own bed, Harry. My own bendy pillow and my own ensuite and my own freezer full of Ben and Jerry's.'

 _And presumably your own husband in the spare room._ 'Of course you do, I'm sorry. We can go away in a few months' time. For my birthday, maybe. I'm sure we'll be able to bribe someone to babysit.'

She curled her hand around his, caressing his knuckles with her thumb. 'You will like the dress though.'

'Ruth, you could turn up in a potato sack and I'll still feel like the luckiest man alive.'

'Just so we're clear, you turn up in a potato sack, I'll kill you.'

He laughed. 'Don't worry, I'm sure Graham will keep me sartorially 'on trend', or whatever the expression is.'

'He's going to be your best man?'

'Yes, yes he is. We're going suit shopping tomorrow lunchtime.'

She squeezed his hand. 'I'm so pleased.'

He nodded, suddenly, stupidly, overcome, and standing, began to clear the table.

'Hey,' she whispered. 'Hey.' Cursing her inability to leap up and wrap her arms around him she contented herself with rubbing his arm. 'Well, don't forget socks, and shoes; you could probably do with new shoes.' She gave him a positively filthy grin that made him think that Thursday night may not be a complete write off after all. 'And trunks. Get some new trunks.'

Leaning over, he kissed her. 'Will do. Right, let me get this lot in the dishwasher and feed Scarlet then we need to get back to these wedding plans.'

~o0o~

Propped up against Harry on the sofa Ruth was flicking through photos of the registry office on the iPad. Thus far she had said nothing at all and he was getting nervous. It was almost a relief when his phone buzzed into life beside him.

'Catherine! Thanks for calling back. You got my message?' He felt Ruth stir against him. 'Uh huh. Oh. Wh….Right.' He stood and walked over to the window, gazing out across the garden as he listened. 'Yes of course, that's….' His head bowed. 'That would be lovely…. Absolutely. As soon as I can. What? Okay, okay. Well, take care. Remember I love you.' He ended the call and stood for a moment, before turning slowly back to face Ruth.

'That was Catherine. She's in Iraq making a documentary about the bombings. She won't be back til next week at the earliest.'

'Oh, Harry…'

He swallowed. 'How didn't I know about this? Someone at Six should have told me about this!' He dragged his palm down his face. 'It's bad enough that she won't be at the wedding but…'

'Harry…Harry….Lebanon was a long time ago. She's older, wiser, more experienced.' She cupped his face in her hands. 'And she's her father's daughter. She'll be fine.' _Oh Christ,_ w _hy did she have to pick now to start being honest with her father about her whereabouts?_

Harry pulled away and slumped back onto the sofa. 'I can't lose her, Ruth. I just can't.'

'What?! Now who's being melodramatic?' Ruth winced. The Thai meal had not been a good idea.

Harry stared at her. 'I'm glad you're so concerned for Catherine's welfare,' he snapped.

'Of course I am,' she replied, wearily. 'You know I am. But she's a grown up, and sensible enough not to take any silly risks…'

'I'd call going to Iraq at this point in time a pretty bloody silly risk.'

Ruth thought it best to say nothing further. 'I'm going to the loo. Do you want anything out of the kettle when I come back?'

Morosely he shook his head.

~o0o~

When she returned to the living room he was still sitting staring into space.

'So where have you picked for the reception?'

'The Orangery at Kew,' he said, eventually. 'They had a cancellation. I just need you to have a look at the caterers and decide which you prefer; which menu you want to go with.'

'I really don't mind about the food. I'm sure they're all good. Whatever you fancy will be fine.'

'So you…don't give a monkey's, is that it? You didn't seem terribly enthused about the Library either.'

'No, I…I mean, yes, I…'

'Oh, make up your bloody mind!' He reached for the tumbler on the table in front of him and downed the contents in one.

'Harry!' Angrily she palmed away the tears that had sprung to her eyes. 'What…what I'm trying to say is that none of it matters…'

'Ohh! Now we're getting to the truth of it.'

'..not really.' She took a deep breath. 'When I was younger I never dreamed of the flowing white gown, the horse drawn carriage driving me and Daddy to our little local church, the groom looking dashing in a morning suit. I never wondered what he might say in his speech, I never chose the music for walking down the aisle, the first dance…I didn't think any of that would ever happen to me.'

Harry reached for the bottle of Ardbeg and poured a generous measure.

'And then….the…the boys, the men I went out with…it seemed so implausible that…' exhaling, she eased herself down onto the sofa, '…I just couldn't imagine us ever having the degree of intimacy, the connection, that every damn love song and novel and film implies is obligatory for any kind of proper, lasting relationship.' Her hands flapped. 'I mean, I know the common denominator in this is me, Harry.' The tears were falling freely now. 'And then I met you. And I fell in love with you, only I didn't know that for a long, long time. Maybe because I didn't know what love was, not really. Or maybe I was in denial because I didn't think you could possibly feel the same way. And then we lost Colin and Zaf and Danny and Fiona and Adam and Jo and Ros, even Ros, and the thought of losing you, Harry, the thought of losing you… I remember passing a church one day and the wedding party were out on the steps getting photographed….all gorgeous dresses and flowers and confetti and I realised that all that is so stupid, so pointless; it can all be blown apart in a heartbeat.'

She stood and began walking round the room, one hand massaging her aching back. 'I know what I said about soulless concrete monstrosities, but honestly I'd've been happy if we'd got married in our lunch hour and gone back to work afterwards, nobody any the wiser.'

'Now she tells me,' muttered Harry.

She came to a halt in front of him, forcing him to look up to meet her eyes.

'It's lovely that Graham's coming. And Malcolm. But the truth be told, everyone that I want to be there on Thursday night is right here in this room.'


	7. Chapter 7

**Apologies for the delay; real life getting in the way and inspiration taking a summer vacation. This is really a filler chapter in the hope that it will kick start the remainder of the story. As ever, thank you very much for reading and, especially, reviewing.**

~o0o~

Ruth had been restless all night, and when his phone alarm chirruped at 5.30am Harry wasn't surprised to find her side of the bed empty. As he stripped off his trunks and stepped into the shower his mind was already going over various potential plans of action for his meeting with Myers. Full guns blazing versus appealing to his better nature. Compromise versus a thinly veiled reminder that _his_ forthcoming salary award was dependent on Harry, and how would he like to not get a pay rise? It wasn't just the money, of course, though they were paid a pittance for what they had to do every day. A grading of 'acceptable' was a kick in the teeth for the quality and quantity of work that they produced day in, day out; for the risks they took; the sacrifices they made. But Beth…although his early doubts about her had been assuaged, although she was courageous, resourceful, a crack shot, Harry still wasn't convinced she was a born spook, not like Jo. And she certainly didn't have the first class brain to be an analyst. One thing was for certain though: whether or not her future lay with MI-5 was not Philip Myers' decision to make.

Reaching for his razor he remembered that Ruth's maternity cover was supposed to be starting that morning. A secondee from the FCO, she was very possibly an ally of Myers.

'Monday mornings, doncha love 'em,' he muttered, and winced as the razor blade nicked his jaw.

~o0o~

Expecting to find Ruth fast asleep on the living room sofa, he was instead greeted by Scarlet, who didn't bother to raise her head, but thumped her tail briefly in acknowledgement. 'Where's your mum?' he asked her. 'Ruth?' he called.

'In the kitchen!'

The kitchen was in some disarray. What looked like the contents of half the cupboards was spread over the counter tops and kitchen table and to his horror, Ruth was perched on the stepladder dusting the top of the cupboards.

'Jesus, Ruth, what the hell are you doing? Come down from there.'

'I'm fine Harry. There's a safety rail. Urgh, you would not believe how filthy…'

'Ruth…come down….please. You're eight months pregnant, your centre of gravity is all to pot…' With one hand he was now gripping the stepladder, the other he had on her hip. 'I'll do the bloody dusting. Please, just…'

'I'm fine, Harry, don't fuss.'

He realised that further argument was futile and so busied himself making toast and coffee. Was some kind of bizarre punishment for last night? He had apologised, blaming the shock of the news, the disappointment of Catherine's missing the wedding.

 _'_ _I'm not the enemy, Harry. You can't just throw a strop every time you hear bad news.'_ The last was unfair, very unfair, but he had let it pass. Now, as he sipped his coffee, Ruth was beginning to put the contents of the cupboards back on the top shelf.

'So what time's the midwife appointment?' he ventured.

'Ten thirty.'

'Sure you don't want me to come?'

'I thought you had Dolby at ten?'

'I do, but…'

'It's just routine; there's no point in your taking any more time off than you need to.'

To Harry's relief, she began to make her way slowly down the stepladder. 'Tea?'

'Decaf, please. I may try to get another hour or two before I get ready.'

He took in the dark circles under her eyes, her pale complexion. 'Good plan,' he said lightly.

'So what have you got planned for this morning?'

'Oh, the usual. And if Dimitri finishes the last of the background checks I'll be finalising the plans for Thursday.'

Her face dimpled into a smile. 'Really? You're that well organised?'

Standing, he pulled her towards him and planted a kiss on the tip of her nose. 'I hope so. Would you like some toast?'

She grimaced. 'Heartburn's giving me gyp. Think I'll pass.'

~o0o~

Graham held the bags aloft and beamed at his father in triumph. 'Never let it be said that we men don't know how to shop.'

Not for the first time in recent weeks Harry was glad that his long hours on the Grid had given him no time to spend his salary on anything but the essentials. Ardbeg, dog food and takeaway curries, in other words. 'And it's not over yet. Rings this afternoon. At Tiffany's.' He grimaced.

'Yeah, well, talking of which, we'd best get a wriggle on. Where are we taking these, back to mine?'

Having delightedly accepted the post of Best Man, Graham seemed to be presuming that Harry would spend the night before the wedding at his flat, a one bedroom affair in Haringey. Harry, simultaneously touched and horrified by the offer, had been unable to respond, and Graham had chattered on about the two of them sinking a few pints and eating takeaway in front of the telly. 'Don't worry Dad,' he'd grinned, 'I'll look after you; no chaining you naked to a lamp post or anything like that. You can even have my bed.'

'Um, about that, Graham, I've been thinking. I really don't want to deprive you of your bed, but I'm probably twenty years too old to be sleeping on sofas. Why don't I book us hotel rooms for the night? We can push the boat out for the condemned man's last meal and then both sleep like kings!'

'No, no, it's fine, I've spent plenty nights…'

Harry shook his head. 'I insist.'

'Right…well, thanks Dad; I'm sure we'll have a great time. Nice bit of fillet, a crate or two of fine wine, a nice 25 year old for..'

Harry's eyebrows shot up.

'I'm talking whisky, dad; whisky. For a nightcap.'

'Hmmph.'

Graham hid his disappointment well, but his eyes belied his seeming enthusiasm for his father's plan. Harry, feeling like a heel, clapped him on the back and said 'We'll drop this little lot off at mine then, and I'll take it all into work on Wednesday.'

Graham registered the 'mine', but said nothing, and the two men walked to the car in silence.

~o0o~

Somehow he'd manage to annoy two of the people he loved most in the world in the one afternoon. He thought he'd handled the rather fraught situation in Tiffany's well; Ruth had suddenly realised that any ring bought at that point would fall off when the pregnancy swelling subsided, but she couldn't countenance the ring then being re-sized. Nor did she want Harry to buy a ring that he could barely get past the first knuckle. Tentatively he'd suggested buying two rings, and a chain so that she could wear whichever one didn't fit. His heart had nearly stopped when he saw the price of the bands set with gemstones, but she'd chosen a plain platinum band, and after some deliberation with the saleswoman while Harry stoically modelled his options, decided on both her ring sizes, Harry's ring, and a silver heart tag pendant. So far, so good.

Much to his surprise, he'd then managed to persuade her into a baby shop where she swiftly filled his arms with Grobags and babygros and towels covered with ducks and miniature items of adult clothing. He gazed perplexed at a tiny pair of jeans.

'What about…uh…romper suits? Bootees? Cardigans?'

'They went out with the 1970s, Harry.'

'Right, right. Do they sell prams here?'

'Buggies. No…'

'Cots?'

The huff was audible, even from behind the rack of what, to Harry, looked like Michelin Man onesies.

'Car seats then? How else are we going to get them home?'

He flinched as two nappy changing mats were added forcefully to the pile.

'Ruth, superstition be damned, we have to be realistic about this. Once the babies come you're not going to have the time or energy to go buggy shopping, and I certainly won't.…and in the absence of both buggies and car seats what would you do with them then, anyway? Leave them at home on the sofa with Scarlet to babysit?! Let's just pay for all this, and then go and have a look at…arse…' Harry indicated his vibrating trouser pocket with his head. 'Would you mind?'

Her expression unreadable Ruth fished the Blackberry out of his pocket and glanced at the display. 'It's Myers.' She accepted the call and held the phone to Harry's ear. 'Yes?' he barked. The rest of the conversation consisted of non-committal grunts and a 'half an hour', then he indicated for Ruth to hang up. As he began to apologise, she had already shoved the phone back into his pocket, and was making her way towards the till.


	8. Chapter 8

**Inspiration seems to have decided to take a bit of a wander somewhere off the beaten track…I'm thinking though that there may only be one chapter to go. Thank you to everyone who's reading and, especially, reviewing.**

~o0o~

Harry's nostrils were assailed by Myers' aftershave before he'd even got his jacket off.

'Briefing room, ten minutes,' he snapped.

Myers was not to be put off, and as he proceeded across the office Harry glanced up. The younger man was holding a pile of manila folders; without meeting Harry's eye he placed them casually on his desk.

'Further to our meeting this morning I thought I should review the section's appraisal files. '

Harry bit back a sarcastic retort.

'I've made a few amendments; if you could approve them and pass the files to HR I would be grateful.'

'Right.' Harry's phone rang: Dolby. 'What fresh hell is this?' he thought. He waited til Myers had departed then picked up the handset. 'Harry Pearce.'

~o0o~

Ruth was drinking a restorative cup of tea and eyeing up Harry's rather random CD display when the phone rang. Scarlet helpfully guided her towards it, barking all the while, as she steeled herself for another cold call. It was Malcolm, seeking her permission to take Harry out for a drink or two ('I promise, nothing rowdy!') with his colleagues the following night.

All too well aware that Malcolm, as Mr Responsible, would have been nominated by the others to make the request, Ruth laughingly agreed, but was surprised at the jolt of dismay she felt at the prospect of her hen night consisting of a night in with a boxset, a salad, and Scarlet. Malcolm seemed to sense the dip in her mood.

'And how are you, Ruth?'

'Oof.' She rubbed her belly. 'Fat. Fed up. Exhausted. Terrified, if I'm honest.' She winced. She had no idea where that final admission had come from, and Malcolm was hardly the person to be confiding in. 'Sorry…I'm just…' she paused, desperate to keep the tears that had suddenly spilled onto her cheek from being audible in her voice.

'Terrified? Of the…of the, ah, birth?' asked Malcolm.

'Ohh, everything really. Shitting a melon twice in quick succession…sorry…then the sheer responsibility of having two tiny humans utterly dependent on me for their survival. Sorry.'

'You and Harry. You're not in this alone, Ruth.' His voice was gentle. 'And I may not be terribly well versed in the ways of tiny babies, but I hope you know you can call on me if ever you need a babysitter or…'

Ruth burst into tears.

'Ruth…oh my dear…Ruth, go and put the kettle on. I'll be with you as soon as I can.'

~o0o~

By the time the doorbell rang, equilibrium was somewhat restored, and Ruth felt embarrassed at being so _feeble_ , and guilty for dragging Malcolm half way across London. 'Hormones,' she explained, apologetically.

Malcolm, wishing for once in his life that he did hugs, was glad of the distraction of a bouncing terrier, whom he scooped up into his arms.

'The cause of half the ills in the world,' he said cheerfully. 'How's the…' he tried to tilt his head out of reach of the onslaught of Scarlet's tongue, '…tea coming on?'

She gave him a grateful smile. 'Assam?'

'Lovely.' He let Scarlet down and she scampered off down the hallway ahead of them. 'And perhaps we should discuss Thursday while I'm here. I ruined your first date; I'd rather not ruin your wedding day too.'

'Wh…? Ohhh.' Ruth groaned. 'No, you didn't ruin our first date. Nobody ruined our first date. It couldn't have been more perfect. I was the one put the kibosh on a second date.' She sighed. 'Just think; if I hadn't been so stupid we could have had all those years together…the babies might have been about to start school, instead of…' she fanned out her hands in front of her belly. 'And Harry wouldn't be in such a bloody mess.' She clicked the kettle on to boil.

Malcolm frowned. 'Mess? I mean, I know his knee…and the burns…' He watched as she retrieved the teapot from the cupboard and added mugs, teaspoons and a little jug of milk to a tray.

'No sugar?'

'No sugar.'

'Biscuits?'

'If you have some open, yes please. Ruth…?'

She crossed to a cupboard and standing on tiptoes began to rummage. 'I have to keep these in a Tupperware container at the back of the cupboard otherwise Harry eats them all. Well, he blames Scarlet, but she's not the one with the expanding waistline.'

The dog barked her agreement.

'Ruth, what did you mean about….'

She still had her back to him. 'The Harry I kissed goodbye on the docks wasn't the Harry I found tied up in that warehouse in Cyprus. I don't just mean he'd aged, I….'

Malcolm sighed. 'He was devastated when you left, Ruth. Ros's death, Adam's, Jo's…all the deaths hit him hard but losing you hit him hardest of all. For a long time we were worried about him. I mean, really worried about him. I mean, it's not as if he was good at looking after himself at the best of times.'

She gave a rueful smile.

'He does love you, you know. I know he's the world's worst at showing it sometimes, but he always has done.'

'D'you think?' Despite his protestations to the contrary Ruth had always suspected that any instant attraction on Harry's part had originated a few inches below his heart, but the romantic in her never tired of hearing otherwise.

'Oh, without a shadow of a doubt. It's just unfortunate it took him so long to realise how he felt. Good grief, we all knew before he did, I think. Or at least Zaf did. He opened a book on the pair of you fairly early on.' He grimaced. 'But that much you know.' He watched as Ruth finished making the tea.

'Here, let me carry that.' Following her through to the living room, he realised he'd veered off topic. As they waited for the tea to steep he broached the subject again.

'You were saying…about Harry being in a mess.'

'I'm sorry, Malcolm; I didn't mean to worry you.'

'Now I _am_ worried!'

'No, no, I mean there's no cause for you to worry. There's nothing you don't already know about. The whole McCann…thing…affected him more than he's let on. I know some good did come out of it; it seems to have properly cemented his relationship with Graham. But…oh, I don't know. It seems to have knocked the wind out of his sails somehow. I don't think he's coping with all the stress of work as well as he used to. I don't think he's coping with _any_ thing as well as he used to.'

Malcolm, inspecting the tea, found it to his satisfaction and began to pour. 'It's early days yet, and he's not a young man any more. Give him time.' He handed Ruth her mug. 'Actually, you may find that the babies give him a whole new lease of life.'

'The babies…'

Malcolm looked up in alarm. 'Is something wrong?'

'No, they're fine; clean bill of health this morning, in fact. I just…don't think they're quite what Harry signed up for.'

Malcolm stirred his tea with great deliberation, conscious of the fact that the conversation was in danger of veering into territory he'd really rather not explore. 'Twins must be a bit of a daunting prospect for anyone,' he said finally, 'regardless of their age, or whether they've had children before. Nobody would blame him - or you - for feeling a bit overwhelmed.' He lay down the teaspoon and sat back against the sofa, cradling his mug in his hands. 'Harry would be the first to admit he wasn't a great father to Catherine and Graham, and he wants to get things right this time round. And I'm sure he'll love them both to pieces, because they're your babies Ruth; yours and his.'

She managed a wobbly smile. 'I hope you're right.'

'At the risk of sounding like Harry, when have I ever been wrong about something…?'

'We'll draw a veil over all the gadget-related experiments that didn't quite work out, shall we?'

Malcolm reached for a biscuit. 'Probably a good idea.'

~o0o~

Silence.

'Ruth?' he called. 'Scarlet?'

No response.

Shutting the front door behind him a slow smile spread over his face. Five minutes later he was ensconced in his armchair, tie off, feet up, cricket on, a hefty measure of Ardbeg cradled in his hand. A Sri Lanka v Pakistan one day international was hardly the Ashes, but it would do. So engrossed was he that he didn't hear the front door open and he was brought back to reality with a thump when a small furry bullet landed on his lap.

'Jesus, Scarlet, mind my drink!'

Realising that Ruth couldn't be far behind he beckoned for the dog to get down and pushed himself to his feet.

'Hey.'

'Hello sweetheart. Where have you two been?'

Somewhat to his surprise she answered by pulling him into a kiss. He was forgiven then. As she leaned into him he began to wonder if a little pre-dinner entertainment might be on the cards. Logistically it might be difficult, but bloody hell, he'd make it work. However, no sooner had the thought began to form than a well-aimed kick to his abdomen put paid to both it and the kiss. Rather aggrieved he frowned at the still prominent bulge in Ruth's belly. 'Bloody hell. Spoilsport.'

'That's you told,' she grinned. 'Malcolm and I took Scarlet for a walk and got some bits and bobs in for dinner. He's offered to cook his world famous saltimbocca.'

Looking over her shoulder he saw Malcolm standing, rather embarrassed, on the threshold.

'Malcolm! Good to see you. Come on in. You can help me watch the cricket.' Reluctantly he relinquished his grip on Ruth's butt and ushered Malcolm towards the TV.

'Like you need any help,' said Ruth, drily. 'Harry, are those for me?'

He followed her gaze to the coffee table, on which lay a large mixed bouquet of flowers. 'Ah, yes. By small way of apology for having to send you home in a taxi and buggering off to work. Sorry, I should've put them in water. I'll do that now.'

'No, you're okay, I'll manage. Thank you. They're lovely.' She looked up. 'Talking of this afternoon, I didn't see any bags in the hall; are they all upstairs?'

'Ah…'

Her smile was resigned. 'Still in the boot. That, you can sort. I'll get Malcolm a drink.'

~o0o~

Few things, thought Harry, could make you feel like all was right with the world better than good food, good wine and good company. As he watched Ruth laughingly tease Malcolm about his encyclopaedic knowledge of Wisden he wondered why life couldn't always be like this; why Myers, Dolby and absconding Olympic athletes couldn't be forgotten forever, rather than just for a few hours of a summer's evening. Retrieving the empty wine bottles he headed through to the kitchen to put the kettle on for coffee and to let Scarlet out into the back garden. London, this house, the Grid, he reflected, was all he'd known for years, but perhaps it was time for something else. A different life.

In the darkness of the kitchen he stood watching the little green glow of the kettle switch as the water surged in the gauge. It clicked off, and almost instantly the water began to calm.

The hands that began to make the coffee were not entirely steady.


	9. Chapter 9

**One more chapter? Well, that was optimistic. There will be...more, but we are at least now at the day of the wedding. Hope you enjoy...**

 **~o0o~**

 **Thursday**

Hungover and half asleep as he was, it took a moment for it to register with Graham that his father was neither clad in mufti nor morning suit, but in what looked suspiciously like one of his normal Saville Row suits.

'Dad...?'

'Morning Graham. Don't worry, you've still got plenty time for breakfast. I'm just heading into work. I'll pick you up at 4pm sharp okay?'

'What? Where?'

'Here. Be outside the front door at 4pm.' Seeing his son's confusion Harry reminded him, 'You've got the room tonight, so you can spend the day relaxing. Have a swim. Chat up that barmaid from last night. Just go easy on the mini bar, eh? I want you sober when you're giving your best man speech.'

'Speech?'

'Oh, for god's sake, Graham. Just a few words. Nothing profound, and nothing that will get me into the trouble with the soon to be Mrs Pearce.'

' _Lady_ Pearce.'

Harry snorted.

'But hang on a minute: where are you going?'

'Work, I told you. I need to clear my desk before I finish up for the honeymoon.' Or more to the point, ensure that there was nothing Myers could meddle with in his absence.

'Dad, you're getting _married_ today. You should be chilling. Getting a massage. Having a proper wet shave. Steaming out all last night's booze…. I've...booked it.' Seeing the expression on his father's face his voice trailed off. 'I thought it would be fun.'

Harry clapped him on both cheeks. 'Don't let me stop you. Right, see you at 4.'

~o0o~

For the third time Harry held his card to the security door. The light remained obstinately red. The door remained resolutely shut.

Swearing under his breath Harry jabbed at the intercom.

'Hello? James? This is Harry Pearce. My card's not working. Could you buzz me in please?'

'Morning, Sir Harry. Um, no can do, I'm afraid.'

Harry stared at the intercom.

'I'm sorry?'

'No can do, I'm afraid, sir. I'm under orders.'

Harry felt his blood run cold. 'Under whose orders, precisely?'

'The Home Secretary's, sir.'

 _Towers?_

'James, will you please tell me what's going on?'

'Hang on, sir, Pete took a note of the instruction.'

Stomach churning, Harry rested his head against the door and waited.

'Sir?'

'Yes, James.'

'Sorry to keep you waiting, sir. Mr Towers phoned himself, sir. He said, and I quote: 'Do not, under any circumstances, no matter how pressing Sir Harry tries to persuade you they are, let him into Thames House between now and Monday morning. If he argues - which he will do - tell him to enjoy his wedding day and make the most of his honeymoon. We can manage just fine without him for a few days.' End quote. Sorry, sir. Can I arrange for Mike to take you anywhere?'

'No...no...I'll get a taxi. Oh! James...my suit...shoes...all the wedding stuff...it's in my office. A…a red and blue holdall and a garment bag. Can you call Section D and have someone bring them down?'

'One moment, sir.'

Again Harry waited.

The intercom crackled back into life. 'Sir Harry? I'm afraid nobody's picking up. Mr Myers must've called an early morning meeting.'

At his side Harry's hand slowly clenched into a fist. 'It's okay James, I'll get it sorted.'

'Very good, sir. Oh, and sir? Congratulations. I hope everything goes well.'

~o0o~

Harry crossed the road and turned east towards Victoria Tower Gardens, his thumb scrolling through his contacts list. Beth had stayed over with Ruth and was spending the day helping her to get ready, so she wasn't an option. Dimitri…voicemail. Tariq, likewise. He sat down heavily on one of the park benches. Granted, the ceremony wasn't until the evening, and granted, the suit he was wearing was clean and had cost more than his first car, but that _wasn't the bloody point._ His thumb hovered over Ruth's listing, and he pressed the display to call her. Voicemail. He gave a rueful chuckle.

'Good morning Ruth. Sorry for calling at this ungodly hour. Uh, if it's unlucky to listen to a voicemail from the groom on the morning of the wedding please feel free to delete this, but I…I just wanted to say that I love you, and I missed you last night. I hope you had a good time with Beth and Lucy. One other thing: you may already have found it, but if you go into the bottom drawer of your bedside table you'll find a present. A wedding present, so you have something new for today. You're marrying the something old, so it's just borrowed and blue you need to sort out.' He paused. 'That pale blue lingerie you bought for Valentine's Day last year might be worth considering…but frankly Ruth, I don't care what you wear tonight just so long as you're there. I love you.' He hit End Call, and was about to call the Grid again, when running footsteps just that bit too near caused him to look up. He exhaled. Shark boy.

'Harry! What on earth are you doing here?'

Dimitri, clad in running shorts, shoes and vest, and carrying a backpack, was obviously running to work. He looked like he'd barely broken sweat. Harry explained the situation, and was not best pleased when Dimitri burst out laughing.

'Good for Towers. So it's just the two bags? No rings? Buttonholes?'

'Just the two bags. Graham's got the rings, and hopefully he won't forget to pick up the buttonholes in between pampering sessions.'

'What?'

Harry shook his head. 'Doesn't matter.' He stood and the two men began walking back towards Thames House. 'So everything's sorted? I haven't forgotten anything?'

Dimitri pursed his lips. 'Well, we scored off everything on your list yesterday, and Lucy checked with a woman in admin who's getting married in the autumn. There were a few other things she suggested…' Harry's head whipped round, aghast, '…but nothing critical.'

'You're sure?'

'An ice sculpture…disposable cameras on each table for the guests to take photos…programmes, gifts for the bridal party, a guest book….'

'I think we can live without all of that. And Myers isn't being arsey about you all taking the afternoon off?'

'It's just me and Tariq. And no, he's been surprisingly accommodating.'

'What about Lucy? Christ, don't tell me…'

'She's taken the day off. She said, um, they need to get to get some practice in first.'

Harry winced. 'Right.' They were at the entrance to Thames House. 'See you back here in five minutes.'


	10. Chapter 10

Not yet 8am, yet for the second time that morning Harry stood chapping on his son's bedroom door. For the second time, a lengthy wait, then for the second time the door opened to reveal Graham, hair tousled, half asleep, and clad only in jeans that had obviously just been pulled on.

'Dad! Didn't you…? He groaned. 'Did I dream…?'

'Yes I did and no you didn't. Can I come in?'

Without waiting for an answer Harry pushed past Graham and entered the vestibule. 'The Grid's off limits today so I need to…oh, Jesus Christ!' Harry spun on his heels through 360º, his face scarlet. 'You could have said something!'

Fast asleep on Graham's bed sprawled the naked figure of the rather beautiful barmaid from the night before.

'You didn't exactly give me a chance,' said Graham, mildly.

'Bathroom!' Harry hissed, and dropping his bags where he stood he pushed his son in front of him into the small ensuite, closing the door behind them.

Graham's amusement at his father's discomfort was evident. If what had been his mother's frequent refrain during his childhood was true, his father was far from unacquainted with the female form. Yet here he was, jaw working furiously as he tried to decide what to say, his emotions bouncing from a wholly inappropriate pride in his son, to embarrassment, to consternation at yet another fly in the ointment of his plans for the day.

'As I was saying,' said Harry, deliberately, 'the Grid is off limits today, so I need to use your room as a base til we leave for the wedding.'

'Can't you use your room? As you can see, I kind of have plans.'

Harry stared at him. 'Yes, you do have plans. Best sodding man-type plans! And no, I can't; I've already checked out and they don't have any others available.' He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. 'Get. Rid.'

Graham's face clouded over in an expression Harry knew only too well. Please, not today of all days. Inspiration struck and he seized it gratefully. 'Graham, I'm not trying to spoil your fun, but having sex with guests is a disciplinary offence. If anyone finds out she could lose her job.'

'You wouldn't!'

'No, no, of course I wouldn't. But look, I just want today to go smoothly and so far it's just one thing after another. At this rate I'm going to be a bloody basket case by 5 o'clock.'

Graham sighed. 'Ok. Here's the deal. You go down and have breakfast. I'm assuming you haven't…? No. You go down and have breakfast. By the time you come back up Hanne will be gone, promise.' Graham paused. 'Best make it a full English. With toast.'

~o0o~

The early morning haze across the garden foretold another hot day. Not for the first time, Ruth wondered when the weather was going to break, longing as she was for the crisp coolness, the freshness of autumn. To her surprise, Beth was already up, slumped over the kitchen table with one hand wrapped round a mug of coffee.

'Beth…'

'Uh, morning. How are you feeling? My head is thumping. Knew I shouldn't have had that last glass of wine.'

'To be fair, I think it was all the ones preceding it that did the damage. Beth….'

'You're probably right. Uh, do you want tea? The kettle's not long boiled.'

'In a minute. I think…'

'Don't worry, I'll be fine by lunchtime. Some painkillers, a shower, a fry up…that'll sort me. Guess I should get the show on the road though. According to Harry's itinerary the flowers should be arriving any time now.'

'Itinerary?'

'Yup.' Beth fished her phone out of her dressing gown pocket and opened up the email. 'Here.'

Sinking into the chair Ruth scanned through Harry's list. 'Crikey. He really has thought of everything, hasn't he?'

Beth smiled, and opted for the diplomatic 'Yes, he's done a good job.' Quite what Myers would say when he realised just how much time she and Lucy had spent organising things that week…well, that was a battle for another day.

As Ruth handed back the phone Beth's eyes alighted on her wrist.

'Hey, is that new? I've not seen it before. It's gorgeous!'

Ruth's fingertips fluttered over the white gold and diamond bracelet. 'Wedding present from Harry.' She frowned. 'I forgot to get him anything. I just didn't think.'

Beth uncurled herself and stood up. 'Trust me, all he's interested in is your doing the deed this evening. And probably several times tonight.' She grinned mischievously, then grimaced. 'But let's not go there. Hanky Panky Harry and hangovers don't mix. Right, quick shower then breakfast.'

Ruth sat, unmoving, as Beth's footsteps receded up the stairs. And then…nothing. While Ruth didn't exactly miss Scarlet's barking at the slightest provocation, and while she was grateful that the neighbours were looking after her for a few days, a friendly face, even a furry one, would have been welcome at that point.

The doorbell rang, breaking her out of her reverie. On the doorstep stood a young man half obscured by a cardboard box full of flowers.

'Morning, missus. Would you be the future Mrs Pearce?'

Ruth took a deep breath. 'Yes, yes, I would.'

~o0o~

'No, Graham, you patently weren't thinking. I'm not hippy trippy, I'm not into all that happy clappy women's nonsense….'

'Women's nonsense? Dad, do you know nothing of Ancient Greece, Ancient Rome?'

'Plenty! I don't bat for the other side either!'

'Oh, for god's sake.' Hands on hips, Graham gazed at his father in exasperation. His physical resemblance to Harry was undeniable (though he was the taller and by far the slimmer of the two), but he looked so like his mother when he was annoyed that Harry was hard pressed not to laugh.

'Look, you can't object to the shave and haircut.'

'No…'

'Then try even just the massage. For me. I'm sure you'll love it.'

'Graham. Listen to me. It's not going to happen. If you're out of pocket I'll reimburse you, but it's not going to happen. End of discussion.'

'Are you embarrassed?'

Harry gave the Times a vigorous flick and returned his attention to the business pages.

'About your weight? Cos they'll have seen far worse than you.'

'Charming. Remind me, are you currently disinherited? If not, you're going the right way about it.'

'Your scars then? They are pretty gross…'

'Oh dear god…your mother's skills in tact and diplomacy live on.'

'But again, they'll have seen worse. So, there's really nothing for you to worry about. Unless…' he plonked himself down on the sofa beside Harry. 'Were it not for Ruth's current, er, situation I would think you a bit past all that, but are you worried you might like it…too much, if you know what I mean?'

Harry remained resolutely hidden behind his newspaper.

Graham ploughed on. 'If it happens, it's just a normal physiological response, Dad. They'll just ignore it, or go massage somewhere else. They can tell who's trying to get off on it and who's utterly mortified. So come on. You've had such a shitty time these past few months and that takes its toll. You'll feel like a new man, I promise. You'll be skipping down that aisle tonight.'

'With _my_ knee?'

'Look, you're about to become a dad again. Don't you owe it to the twins, to Ruth, to be in the best shape you can be? Don't you want to give her one less thing to worry about?'

Half an hour later Harry found himself lying prostrate on a massage table, with only a small towel protecting his modesty. Within ten minutes he was fast asleep.


	11. Chapter 11

**I am so sorry it's taken me so long to get back to this. Real life got in the way and then...I completely forgot about it, I'm afraid. With a bit of luck it will take me rather less time to write and post the remaining few chapters. Hope you enjoy.**

* * *

On what was meant to be one of the happiest days of his life, Harry had the look of someone who was en route to the gallows. Never the most loquacious of people, unless fuelled by good food, sufficient alcohol and congenial company, he had become increasingly monosyllabic as the day wore on, and his grumbles about the massage ('waste of bloody money; I slept all the way through it') subsided into silence as he began to get himself ready. Even Graham's returning from the barber's cleanly shaven and with a short back and sides did not provoke comment. Now Harry stood in front of the mirror with unseeing eyes, the fingers at his buttonhole unmoving.

'Dad? Dad, are you alright?'

Behind Harry's eyes the silent movie spooled on in a jerky procession of faces, some laughing, some screaming, some uncomprehending. Some were as vivid as if they were in the room in front of them; others were slowly fading into white, like old Polaroid photographs. Graham's words were lost in the cacophony of voices, and it took his son's hand on his shoulder to jerk Harry back into the present.

'Dad!'

'What?' Harry winced at the retort, and flashed a placating smile at his son. 'Sorry, miles away.'

'Are you okay? For someone who's about to marry the love of his life you look pretty bloody miserable. What's wrong?'

'Nothing, I'm fine, I…'

If Graham's eyebrow could have shot up any further it would have vanished into his hairline.

'Don't tell me you're getting cold feet?'

Harry gave a rueful chuckle. 'Trust me, I'm not the one likely to be getting cold feet.'

Graham scoffed. 'If Ruth does I'll change every one of the babies' nappies for the first month.'

'Spoken by the man who has never seen, let alone changed, a newborn's nappy.' At the sight of his son folding his arms Harry held up his in surrender. 'Fair point. I rather left that kind of thing to your mother.'

Retrieving his holdall, Harry pulled out a bottle of Ardbeg and held it up. 'Dutch courage?'

Graham frowned, but simply shook his head, all too well aware of the folly of querying his father's course of action. In a bid to lighten the mood he began a lengthy discourse on Tottenham Hotspur's prospects for the new season, while also monitoring the level of Ardbeg in the bottle by Harry's side. It almost came as a relief when, a few minutes before 4pm, Harry pushed himself upright, and with one last check that they hadn't forgotten anything, the two men made their way downstairs.

§

The hand on his arm jerked Harry back to the present. 'Sorry?'

'Are you quite alright, Mr Pearce?'

The grey eyes of the registrar were looking at him in concern.

Harry exhaled. 'Yes, yes, sorry, I'm fine. I'm just..nervous. A bit nervous. Ridiculous, really. So, yes, that's fine. Is that everything?'

She nodded. 'If you'd like to join your guests in the Library? I'll be seeing Ms Evershed shortly.'

'Right. Right. Thank you.' Harry shook her hand and made his way out into the entrance hall, where Graham was loitering, a wide grin on his face. 'All set?'

Harry tugged at his cuffs. 'Mm.'

'We've got an extra guest. I called the Orangery; it's not a problem, numbers-wise.'

'I should bloody well hope not, the amount I'm paying them. Please tell me it's not another one of your conquests?' At the sound of footsteps Harry turned; the slender figure approaching him looked tired and somewhat dishevelled for a wedding guest, but knee pain forgotten Harry covered the space between them in three strides and enveloped his daughter in his arms.

§

'So Harry's not the only one who can pull strings then?'

Catherine laughed. 'I learned from the master.'

As if on cue, Harry appeared at her elbow. 'Tariq, I'd be grateful if you could devote yourself to your David Bailey duties and desist from chatting up my daughter.'

'I've got a zillion RAWs of everything and everyone, Harry. There's nothing left to photograph til Ruth and co get here. Chill, yeah?'

'Ch…?'

'He's not chatting me up, Dad, he's just being, you know, friendly?' Catherine took his arm. 'C'mon, we'd best sit down, Ruth will be here any minute.' The briefest expression flickered across Harry's face. 'Dad?'

Behind them, the guests were beginning to make their way towards the front of the room.

'Dad, what's wrong?'

Harry frowned. 'I just…I just can't help feeling that she won't turn up, or that something's going to go wrong. I have this terrible sense of foreboding….stupid, I know, but…'

'After everything you guys have been through it's not surprising, but everything's going to be fine, you'll see. Ooh, the registrar's here. Come on.'

Harry was vaguely aware of the smiling faces on either side of him, of Lucy's quartet beginning to play the Bach Air. He fixed his gaze on the stained glass windows ahead, forcing his breathing to slow, to steady. Then there was a pause, and the music changed. Beside him, Graham turned round.

'Aw, Dad, she looks beautiful!' he whispered.

Harry closed his eyes, and remained resolutely facing forward, then he sensed her presence beside him, and as her fingers entwined with his he opened his eyes and turned to face her. She looked pale, too pale, yet radiant, and smiling and…what? He felt her thumb brush his cheek. 'You're crying,' she murmured. 'Oh, Harry!' Taking his hand once more she handed her bouquet to a beaming Beth, and then the registrar began to speak.


End file.
